Kingdom Come
by rayrae118
Summary: Set early season 7. Dean knew that there would be fallout from the wall coming down and Hell being unleashed on Sam's mind. He just hadn't expected it to look like this. In Sam's defense, after spending that much time with two pissed off archangels, anyone's perception of pain might be a little screwy. Some hurt/comfort, lots of brotherly love.


**Yet another Supernatural idea I couldn't get out of my head. And of course I had to write it, because I don't have enough to do already between grad school, work, and trying to plan out my summer (yeah, if it seems way too early to you, you're right, but securing an internship is a long process). Anyway, hope you like it! Timeline-wise, this takes place in early season 7, after the wall has come down but before the hallucinations started to get really bad. So Sam remembers Hell, but Lucifer hasn't started singing Stairway to Heaven on repeat yet**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural**

Dean frowned as he watched Sam throw his beat up duffel on the bed furthest from the door, and head into the bathroom.

Their latest scuffle with things that go bump in the night hadn't exactly ended well, and they were taking refuge at yet another no-star motel off the beaten track while they regrouped and figured out just what it was that was mauling people, since it clearly wasn't a werewolf like they had thought. They had been completely unprepared for what Dean was about seventy-five percent sure was some sort of cross between a rabid bear and a tiger. Maybe throw in some sort of demonic possession, just because? Regular animals weren't supposed to have red eyes, right?

So yeah, completely unprepared. Silver didn't really work on rabid animals the way it did on werewolves, and both brothers were sporting some very painful bruises. Well, Dean was pretty sure Sam had to be hurting at least as much as him – his younger brother had taken several hard hits, including a very unfortunate impact with a tree that had had Dean wincing when he heard the crunch.

Still though, Sam had gotten up on his own after just a few moments, and rejoined the fight, helping Dean to drive the creature back until they could get away to regroup. He hadn't mentioned any injuries, but Dean had several scrapes and bruises, including what he was fairly certain was a bruised or cracked rib, and he hadn't been thrown about nearly as much as Sam.

From the bathroom, Dean heard the shower turn on, and he frowned. Sam hadn't brought any clothes in with him, or any supplies to take care of injuries. "Sam?" he called out, rifling through his own duffle bag for the first aid kit. "You need any help fixing yourself up?"

There was a moment of silence, and then Sam replied, "I'm good."

Dean's frown deepened. Yeah, he didn't buy that for a second. He grabbed some bandages and the needle and thread they used for stitches – Sam had thankfully remembered to refill their first aid kit a couple weeks earlier, so Dean wouldn't have to use dental floss this time at least.

He moved over to the bathroom and knocked once. "I'm coming in, you better be decent."

Not giving his brother a chance to argue, he immediately opened the door and pushed his way in.

Sam hadn't even made an attempt to get into the shower yet. He had managed to take off his shirt, but seemed to have run into trouble when it came to unbuttoning his pants. He looked up when Dean barged in, and frowned. "Seriously Dean? You can't wait ten minutes for your turn?" He went back to trying to take off his pants, but seemed unable to get the button undone.

Dean rolled his eyes and set the supplies down in the sink, before reaching over to turn off the shower. "Let me take a look at your injuries, Sam. You hit that tree pretty hard."

Sam glanced over, abandoning his attempt to undress. "I'm fine, Dean. Seriously."

Dean raised an eyebrow and ran a critical eye over the rather impressive bruises he could see on Sam's back and torso. "I can see at least three cuts that need stitches, and is there something wrong with your hand? It shouldn't be that hard to take off your pants."

Sam sighed and took a seat on the toilet. "Fine. But make it fast. I just want to get the dirt off and go to sleep."

Dean managed to contain the eye-roll this time, and instead reached for the toilet paper, not trusting the grimy hand towels hanging on the rack – no need to invite infection.

Sam remained quiet as Dean cleaned and stitched up four lacerations – a three-inch gash on his shoulder and three more on his back. There was a fifth that Dean thought might need stitches, but when he cleaned it up a little, he decided against it. Sam was already lagging, and he didn't want to make the kid sit through more medical procedures than he had to.

When he finished, he put bandages over the stitches and then sat back slightly. "Let me see your wrist."

Sam blinked owlishly, fading fast. Dean almost let it go. Sam was exhausted, and the big brother in him just wanted to let the kid go to sleep. But his left wrist was purple and swollen, and Dean wasn't entirely certain it wasn't broken, so as much as he wanted to, he just couldn't leave it be. "Wrist, Sam. Now."

Sam blinked again, his eyes clearing slightly, and he frowned. "It's fine, Dean. Come on, you've stitched me up, I've lost the will to shower, I'm going to bed." He made a motion as if to stand up, but used the injured wrist to attempt the move, and ended up collapsing back down on the toilet.

Dean huffed out a small snort. "You were saying?"

Sam's expression changed to confusion, and he looked at the swollen wrist like he didn't quite understand what he was seeing. "Huh."

Dean's humor turned to surprise, just a short stop away from alarm. "Sammy?"

Sam looked back up and shrugged. "It doesn't really hurt that much, Dean. Probably just a sprain."

Dean shook his head quickly and took the injured limb with gentle hands. He prodded the bruise tentatively, but Sam didn't even flinch. He just watched the process detachedly, as if it wasn't his own injury Dean was diagnosing.

His frown only deepened with each poke, as Sam continued to sit there stoically. "How's that feel?" he asked curiously, looking up and hoping to catch any hint of a lie.

Sam shrugged again. "Really, Dean, it's not bad."

Dean shook his head and set the limb down, sitting back on his heels. "Your wrist is broken, Sam. I think we need to go to the hospital."

Sam immediately shook his head. "No we don't," he disagreed. "Come on, I look like I just went ten rounds with Mike Tyson, you know the doctors are going to ask all kinds of questions."

Dean wasn't going to give up though. He stood up and tossed Sam his button down shirt. "If your ass isn't by that door in three minutes, I'm dragging you out myself. That bone needs to be set."

He left the bathroom, but kept the door open. After a few moments, Sam seemed to pull himself together, and put his shirt on. He joined Dean out in the main room and glared. "This is really not necessary."

Dean just glared right back. "Broken wrist, Sam. If it was just a fracture you know I'd wrap it and let it go, but it feels like a clean break. I can't set that for you."

Sam sighed like it was the most inconvenient thing in the world, but let Dean guide him out to the car – not Baby, she was still in storage while they tried to sort out their Leviathan problem, and Dean wouldn't stop complaining about it. He remained quiet during the drive to the nearest hospital, but it was more of a contemplative silence, rather than a sulky one.

 **XXX**

Dean was the one to come up with the lies, spinning a convincing tale about night hiking in the woods and an unfortunate fall down a hill, to explain for the myriad of injuries. Sam was hustled off to the x-ray machine, leaving Dean in the waiting room for over an hour, until the doctor returned to fetch him.

Rather than bring him back to his brother as expected, Dean was immediately on edge when the doctor instead guided him to a plain office down the hall. "I just wanted to talk to you in private for a minute, Mr. Hilton," the man reassured, though it didn't do much to calm Dean.

"What's going on?" he asked abrasively. "Is my brother all right?"

The man smiled gently. "Sam's fine," he promised. "The nurse is setting his cast now, and he should be able to leave soon. I was just hoping you could clarify a few things for me." Dean didn't drop his guarded expression, but he did jerk his head slightly in a facsimile of a nod. "Good. I'm Doctor Winthrop, I was the one who examined your brother. I just had a few concerns, based on what I observed. Has Sam dealt with trauma at all in his past?"

Dean's glower changed to something more like concern and caution. "He's been through his share of battles," he said noncommittedly.

Doctor Winthrop's face cleared immediately. "Veteran?"

Since it was close enough, Dean nodded.

The doctor sighed understandingly. "I suppose that might explain it then, if he's had severe injuries before."

Dean's glare returned. "Explains what? What the hell is going on?"

Doctor Winthrop made a motion as if to reach out and reassure the other man, but seemed to realize that it would not be well received, so he dropped his arm down to his side. "It's nothing… bad," he hesitated, and then shook his head, a pensive look on his face. "Well, I'm not sure. It's a little concerning, certainly. When I was examining Sam earlier, I was… surprised… by his lack of reaction." When Dean's expression didn't clear, the doctor pursed his lips. "In addition to the bruises and lacerations that you stitched up – rather well, I might add," he paused again, this time in expectation.

Dean just shrugged. "I've got some medical training. I didn't think it was too serious, and he didn't really want to go to the hospital so I thought I could fix him up at our hotel. When I realized he had a broken wrist, I made him agree to come in and get it checked out."

Doctor Winthrop smiled slightly. "Ah. Yes, well you were correct, he has a displaced distal ulna and a distal radius fracture, which is just a long way of saying that the bones in both his wrist and forearm were broken, and there was a separation that requires more medical attention than you could conceivably provide in a hotel room." He appeared troubled once more. "He also has three cracked ribs. Mr. Hilton, Sam didn't make a single sound, not when I was diagnosing the broken wrist, not when I was probing the injured ribs or checking the stitches. I've seen people reduced to tears from a cracked rib. And not just children, grown men and women who have dealt with pain before. A cracked rib is not an injury to take lightly, and a complete break in the wrist like the one Sam suffered is not something he would have just 'forgotten' to mention, as it appears, since you said you didn't realize it was broken until you got back to your hotel."

The doctor stopped talking, waiting in anticipation as if hoping Dean could fill in the blanks.

But all Dean could do was think about _why_ Sam apparently didn't 'feel' a broken arm and three cracked ribs was worth mentioning. Why wouldn't he think to tell Dean about it? The kid knew better than to keep those injuries to himself…

Dean's thought process came to a sudden grinding halt as his mind supplied the image of Sam, digging a nail into a jagged cut on his palm, causing it to open and bleed sluggishly. Sam, firing a gun into an empty warehouse because he couldn't distinguish between what was real and what wasn't. Jesus Christ, was it possible that Sam just _hadn't known_? How did you just ignore a broken bone? And not simply putting it aside until there was time to deal with it later, but Sam actually _hadn't realized_. He literally hadn't known that his wrist was broken. And he hadn't mentioned his chest or ribs hurting at all. He had just ignored the bruises like they weren't even there.

Dean looked up, and realized that the doctor was still waiting for an answer. He swallowed harshly, and forced himself to speak. "Yeah, well I mentioned Sam's been through some stuff. A while ago, he was… a prisoner of war. He was pretty bad off when he came back."

Doctor Winthrop smiled sympathetically. "My apologies. I did not intend to bring up difficult times for your family. I explained to Sam that he needs to let you know if anything feels wrong or different than it should, but I'll tell you as well. Keep an eye on him, especially for the next couple days. If you notice him having trouble breathing, or any discoloration around the cast on his wrist, please bring him back. I'll give you some literature on how to care for these injuries, but I can tell you're used to looking out for your brother, so I won't worry too much about anything slipping between the cracks."

Dean almost managed a smile at that. Take care of Sammy. It was like his life's creed.

Doctor Winthrop sighed. "I'll take you back to your brother now. They should be almost done."

Dean followed the doctor back down the hall to where Sam was sitting quietly, his attention fixed on the far wall instead of the nurse wrapping his wrist in plaster.

They finished up a few minutes later; the nurse gave Sam one last smile before she left them alone, and Doctor Winthrop handed Dean a few pamphlets about taking care of the cast, and one last warning about watching for signs that the ribs weren't healing. That done, he let the two brothers leave.

Sam followed Dean out to the car, waiting for his brother to go off about his lack of sharing, how he could be so dense to not tell anyone that he had a broken wrist, what the hell was wrong with him for keeping such important information to himself…

But Dean didn't speak, not as they got into the car, and not as he maneuvered out of the parking lot and back towards the hotel.

When they were about nearly back, Sam couldn't take the silence anymore. "I really didn't realize, Dean. I'm sorry."

Dean flinched violently, but didn't reply until he had pulled into the motel parking lot. He cut the ignition but made no move to exit the vehicle. Staring straight ahead so that he wouldn't unintentionally share all of his turbulent emotions with his way too perceptive brother, he sighed. "Why is that?"

Sam frowned, confused. "What?"

Dean finally forced himself to turn in his seat so that he could face his brother. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but knew that Sam saw through his masks way too easily, so he didn't hold out hope that the kid wouldn't pick up on everything he was feeling right now. Hurt. Anger. Guilt. Fear. Sorrow. Fury at what Sam had lived through that made it so easy to dismiss pain now. "Why do you think you didn't realize?" he clarified.

Sam was the one to flinch now, and he looked down at his lap.

Dean wouldn't let it slide now, though. "Tell me, Sam. Why don't you feel it? You've got three cracked ribs and a wrist that's broken in two places. Does it hurt?"

Sam hesitated, and then shook his head slightly as he bit his lip. "It's like, I know I should feel it, and I guess there's a little pressure or something, but it doesn't really _hurt_." He took a deep breath that he aborted halfway through when he felt that pressure build in his chest, recognizing that that would be the injured ribs. "I don't know, Dean… I just…" His voice trailed off as he muttered, "After Lucifer and Michael, a couple broken bones just don't seem like that big a deal."

Dean winced. Sam had yet to talk in real detail about the Cage. Dean knew a few minor things, stuff he had picked up based on Sam's actions after the wall had been destroyed, but he didn't want to ask for more. Mostly because he wasn't sure which response scared him more: Sam refusing to tell him about it, or finding out exactly what his brother had been through at the hands of two archangels.

Sam looked back up and tried to smile. It didn't work so well. "It's OK, Dean. I mean, I guess I'll just have to be a little more critical whenever I get hurt, but I'm fine. I'm out of the Cage." His sad attempt at a smile dropped slightly. "Most days I can even remember that."

Dean leveled the kid a glare that didn't have any real heat to it. "Not funny, Sam."

Sam just shrugged in reply. "Anyway, don't worry so much. I'm sorry this turned into a thing."

The forced bravado in Sam's voice almost had Dean reaching towards him before he remembered his whole 'no chick flicks' rule. So instead he kept his hands to himself and just offered up a short bark that could almost be called a laugh. "It's not a 'thing', Sam. This is you having been thrown so much crap that you can't even recognize what a broken wrist or cracked ribs feel like." His voice softened slightly as he hedged, "I know you don't want to talk about it, and I can't guarantee I want to hear it, but if you ever do… you know I'll be here." Sam's responding look was sharp and skeptical. Dean looked away. "Just an offer."

Sam forced his expression to even out and he nodded slightly. "Yeah. 'Cause you took me up on that offer so eagerly when you got out."

Dean wondered if it was possible to injure yourself from flinching too much. "Hey, I never claimed to be a healthy functioning adult." Sam actually smiled at that, and Dean felt a little lighter. "That whole repressing until it comes out in anger and alcoholism might not actually work as well as I like to pretend. And the whole 'there are no words to describe it' thing was just a cop out."

Sam rolled his eyes. "So it was all right for you to say that but I can't use the same excuse? 'Cause you were right, Dean, the words just don't exist in any human language."

Dean frowned. "Human language?"

Sam looked suddenly guarded, but he nodded readily enough. "Did you know angels have seventeen different words for pain? I think Lucifer personally invented eight of them." Dean inhaled sharply, but didn't interrupt as Sam turned his attention to the window, looking at the silent parking lot so that he wouldn't have to see what he was sure to be shock or revulsion on his brother's face. "Enochian is a pretty complex language, there's a lot you can do with it that just doesn't compare in English."

Dean's stomach twisted unpleasantly, both at the implications behind what Sam was saying, but also at the fact that Sam had spent enough time being tortured by two archangels that he had apparently become fluent in their language. He doubted it had happened because the two dicks had sat him down patiently and taught him about syntax and verb tenses.

Sam swallowed harshly and forced himself to continue. "I'm not going to drag this all out, Dean. It happened, and yeah the wall's down now so unfortunately I have to actually remember it all happening, but…" he sighed and made himself turn back to look at Dean, "don't do this."

Dean furrowed his brow, confused. "Do what?"

Sam shook his head. "Don't do you. You know how you get, especially when something happens to me. Don't blame yourself, this one was all on me. I knew what I was doing when I said yes. I knew what would happen, and I accepted that. I let him out, I had to put him back."

Dean straightened up in his seat immediately. "If I can't blame myself then you can't either. That bag of shit was on a lot of people, Sam. You only had a small part to play. I broke the first seal, remember, and then there's all the angels and demons who were manipulating both of us to get their fucking apocalypse. And I'm the one who pushed Cas; he disintegrated your wall because of me."

Sam sighed wearily. "We all pushed Cas. Besides, it was for the best." Dean made a questioning noise that successfully conveyed his disbelief, and Sam grimaced. "That wall was never going to be a long-term solution. I needed to know what had happened. No matter what came after."

Dean felt the pressure behind his eyes build up and knew that if he wasn't careful he might actually start bawling in a way he hadn't since he was four years old and saw his mother burn on the ceiling of his baby brother's nursery. "I didn't want it to come to that," he admitted softly, his voice barely a whisper.

Sam made a noncommittal sound that didn't really say anything but indicated his agreement nonetheless.

Dean's expression was pained as he looked back at Sam. "I know the hits keep coming, the last couple years, and we haven't really had much of a break," other than that year when he had been with Lisa and Ben, and Sam had been running around soulless, but Dean decided not to bring that whole mess up, "but don't ask me not to worry, and don't ask me not to try and protect you. I'm the big brother here, Sammy. It's been my job since I was four years old and I don't plan on quitting any time soon. I know I've dropped the ball a few times, but –"

Sam shook his head quickly, eyes wide. "You've never –"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I have, Sam, and I know it. I can admit that I've made mistakes over the years; we both have, there's no denying it." Sam flinched slightly at the reminder of all the times he had screwed up, but Dean wouldn't let him feel bad for long. "It's all in the past though. Anything you think you did wrong, you've paid for it Sam. You've paid far more than you had any right to. I hate it, but I can't change it. So let's just… move on. And you have to tell me if something feels off. Even if it doesn't feel the same as it did before the… Cage," he swallowed harshly on the word, hating the images it brought to mind, "just tell me. We'll figure this out, Sammy. Together."

Sam smiled lightly and nodded.

Dean let out a soft huff. "Good. Now let's get inside. It's freezing, and we've still got a rabid bear-tiger to deal with."

Sam sighed wearily but got out of the car and followed Dean into their crappy motel room. "It's not a bear-tiger, Dean. I just need to spend some time in the library, and we'll figure it out."

Dean was glad that he was in front, so Sam couldn't see his indulgent smile. "I'm sure you will, Sammy. And I'll call Bobby to join us before we take Baloo on again."

He turned around and saw Sam standing in the entrance, stunned into silence. "Did you just reference The Jungle Book? Baloo was one of the good guys, remember?"

Dean smirked. "How could I forget? That movie kept you occupied for hours when you were a kid. I always hated that bear."

Sam huffed, and moved over to his bed. His duffel bag was still sitting innocently on the end, and it barely took any effort to knock it to the floor, before he lay down on top of the blanket, closing his eyes. "Not sure why we need Bobby. Just need to figure out what this is, and we can take care of it."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Between the two of us we've got forty-four good ribs out of forty-eight, and three out of four good arms. We could use the extra man power."

He almost expected more argument, but Sam seemed to accept that answer, and with an inaudible groan, settled back. Dean watched, expression soft with affection. He could see that the kid was well on his way to being out like a light; indeed, Sam barely stirred at all when he pulled the blanket out so that he could cover his brother up properly.

That act done, he settled into his own bed, shifting to dislodge the scratchy sheets and trying to even out the lumpy mattress. He didn't fall asleep though, just sat back and watched his brother sleep.

He had told Sam the truth; he had been dropping the ball, especially lately, but even before this whole mess. When he had gotten out of Hell he had admittedly been a little screwed up himself, but he hadn't really acknowledged how hard things must have been for Sam. And then with Ruby and the demon blood, it had just been easier to jump to anger and righteousness. And after Sam let Lucifer out, he had been hurt that his brother trusted a demon over him, and again, it was easier to be angry than try and talk it out and see things from his brother's point of view.

And before that, how he had dealt with dad's death, not disobeying orders when Sam had left for Stanford and dad had cut him out completely. Dean always hated to admit his mistakes – he was more of a look forward, ignore the past kind of guy. He didn't like to talk about things. He had gone to the John Winchester School of Coping, after all. Drown your problems in alcohol and hunting, and screw anyone who tries to tell you it's not healthy.

Maybe part of it was guilt though. Because Sam was always too willing to own up to his own faults, and once he thought he made a mistake it was nearly impossible to change his mind. He harbored so much guilt of his own, to the point where he actually thought that eternity in a Cage with Michael and Lucifer was a just payment for his perceived sins.

It made Dean feel like he had failed in his job; he was supposed to watch out for Sammy. He was supposed to make sure nothing ever hurt his little brother. But somewhere along the way, Sam had gotten it into his head that he was responsible for the world. Well, Dean could at least objectively admit that the kid had probably gotten that idea from emulating his brother, but that wasn't the way it was supposed to work.

And the world certainly wasn't supposed to work like this: his little brother spending decades – maybe centuries, Dean hadn't gotten a real answer on how time passed in the Cage, but based on Sam's evasiveness when he brought it up, Dean was willing to bet that the simple ten years per month rule that had held true for him may not be the best gauge for time in the Cage – locked up with two pissed off archangels who had nothing better to do than take out their frustrations on the puny human who dared defy their grand plans for carrying out what they saw as God's plan for Paradise on Earth.

Tortured, with no respite or hope of rescue. Resigned to never getting out. Willingly jumping – literally – into that situation, because he felt he had screwed up, and the only thing he could offer to make it right was his life. And offer it he did.

Damn stubborn, self-sacrificial idiot.

Damn, Dean loved that kid.

He just kept getting hit with crap, and yet somehow, managed to stand back up and keep fighting. Sometimes Dean wondered how he did it. When Dean had gotten out of Hell, no matter how much he pretended he was fine, he had felt like the world could go screw itself. There had been days when he just hadn't wanted to get out of bed. Nights when he had been too afraid to sleep and too afraid to stay up and face the nightmares that haunted him even when he was awake.

But Sam… the kid had dealt with all that and more, especially since getting his soul back, but he just kept going. Dean had yet to catch him in a nightmare, he hadn't seen anything that suggested Sam was bothered, until tonight. That conversation in the car that most definitely was _not_ Baby, had shown him just a glimpse of what Sam must have been dealing with all this time. Sam wasn't OK. He was just apparently better at hiding it than Dean had been.

Or maybe Sam was just better at reading him than he was at reading Sam? Because Sam had known immediately, that something was wrong, and he had offered up exactly what Dean needed, even if he didn't like to admit it: someone to talk to, someone to vent to, someone to let out all the anger and hurt and frustration on, who wouldn't hate him for it or leave if he took it too far.

Why hadn't Dean seen this before now?

A soft groan from the other bed had him turning immediately to offer up whatever support he could.

Sam's eyes were still closed, and for a moment, Dean thought it was just a dream. But then the kid spoke, voice muffled by the scratchy sheets. "Stop thinking so loud and go to bed. Still got Baloo to hunt, need rest."

Dean shook his head but lay down completely, kicking the blanket aside. "I don't think loud," he threw back, his own voice soft but rough with emotion.

Sam smirked lightly. "Don't think loud, or just don't think?"

Dean growled in annoyance, but didn't argue, recognizing what Sam was doing. He was drawing Dean's attention out of the dark place he had been headed, without making it seem awkward or forced. Jesus Christ, had the kid always been this good? How many other times had Sam done this, without Dean realizing? And hadn't he been asleep? How the hell had he known what Dean was thinking?

Sam let out a low sigh and forced his eyes open. "I know you don't like to do this, Dean, but if it's really bothering you why don't you talk it out? Talk to me, man, tell me what it is and we'll fix it."

So simple. So Sam. Quiet reassurance, a shoulder to lean on, steadfast promises to always be there.

But Dean couldn't do it. He wasn't like Sam, able to poke and prod in just the right way to get his brother to open up and begin to heal. His way of talking about issues generally involved taking a sledgehammer to the problem and usually just making things worse. He didn't want to risk opening up Sam's can of worms when the kid seemed to have a pretty good handle on it by himself.

And it definitely looked like Sam was handling it from where Dean was lying, until he glanced over and saw the shadowed gaze, the way Sam's eyes would skitter away to rest on the far wall, the glint of tears that refused to fall. The hunched shoulders that couldn't entirely be explained by the three cracked ribs. The nearly invisible hitch to his breath every time he breathed.

Shit. Dean was moving before he consciously thought about it, settling in next to Sam, leaning back against the headboard and reaching out to rest one hand lightly on his brother's shoulder.

Another breath, and the subtle tremors that Sam was trying so hard to hide were much more defined now. He leaned into Dean's side and let out a nearly silent sigh of relief.

"We'll figure this out, Sammy," Dean whispered, rubbing small circles on Sam's shoulder, feeling some small sense of victory as he felt the kid relax even more. He could almost feel the energy leeching away. "Promise." He continued to offer what comfort he could, until he heard a soft snore and knew that Sam had fallen back asleep. He didn't move away though, happy to remain here for the rest of the night. He certainly wouldn't be getting any sleep.

And even though there was a strange monster on the loose, Leviathan up to God knows what and no visible way to beat them, for right now, Dean was content. Sure, the Cage had just thrown them yet another curveball and Dean wasn't convinced this would be the extent of the reach that godforsaken place held over his brother, but he would be there for Sam, no matter what. Sam was good at hiding, but now that Dean knew what he was doing, he could be the big brother he was supposed to be.

They'd figure the rest out later. For right now, it was Sam and Dean against the world. And with the track record they held so far, well, Dean wouldn't bet against them. And screw anything and everyone that thought otherwise.

 _Please review and let me know what you think!_


End file.
